dgbblog

Before I became a family travel writer, I used to spend my summers hitting the open road with my long-time friend, Shotgun. Shotgun is really Jeanne Rose, but nobody close to her calls her that. She became Shotgun in the mid-1980s when she sat beside me in my two-seater Mazda Rx7 on a mega trip down old Route 66. She was in charge of the map, the snacks, and all the other responsibilities that entail riding Shotgun.

As 20-somethings, we were able to take long summer trips because she was a professor and I was a freelance writer, both jobs conducive to summers off. On our excursions, we would frequent small-town diners, brake for resale shops, and hang our hats at roadside motels trimmed in vintage neon. On our Route 66 trip, we superimposed a vintage road map over a current one, to make sure we stayed true to the original route, which spans 2,448 miles from Chicago to Los Angeles. In parts, finding Route 66 was a challenge, as it wasn’t always well-marked, but we weren’t in a rush, and enjoyed stopping at local diners for French silk pie and directions. (These days, a number of detailed websites and travel guides make it easier to tackle the trip.)

Flash forward nearly 25 years. Shotgun is a popular professor and wildly talented pastry chef and artist. (Her newest venture: crafting honey-toned beeswax candles using antique candy molds.) I’m the Family Adventure Mom, with two kids, a travel-loving spouse, and a fun gig as a writer and TV personality. Shotgun and I still have a bad case of ants-in-the-pants, which is how our most recent trip came about.

2009 marks our 40th year of friendship. We grew up in the same hometown, attended the same church (where my dad was the minister, her mom was the choir director), and survived the awkwardness of 1970s adolescence together. We didn’t have cell phones or computers or media players, but we did have Rhoda Morgenstern head scarves, wide-legged “elephant pants,” and cats-eye glasses — now in vogue at hip resale shops. Thank goodness we’re both pack rats — we’ve kept all the bohemian bling, and my 10-year-old daughter proudly wears my glittery disco T-shirts.

Recently, we decided to celebrate our friendship with a two-night trip to New Hampshire. We love NH — the state with the coolest motto, Live Free or Die (we’ve slightly altered the motto to Shop Free or Die, as there’s no state sales tax). Exploring old country stores, noshing at roadside restaurants, and beholding mountain and seashore views were tops on our agenda.

Covered bridges, rugged scenery and a "live free or die" motto make New Hampshire an ace place for a road trip

Though we’ve both been to the Granite State many times, we’d never stopped in Bath, near the Vermont border, home to the Old Brick Store. The 1790s landmark harbors post-office boxes where locals retrieve their newspaper and stop by for freshmade donuts. We tried caramel apple fudge, sarsparilla, and savored the aroma of briney pickles in the barrel. “I love the way the floors creak,” Shotgun said, as she padded through the store.

Next stop: Franconia State Park in the White Mountains. Jeanne hadn’t been there since the Old Man of the Mountain collapsed in 2003. Though we miss his rocky profile, we took the tram to the top of Cannon Mountain and savored a panoramic view encompassing Maine, New York, and even Quebec, Canada. At the Old Man Country Store in the base lodge, we found Old Man-themed jewelry, ornaments, and prints.

At Zeb’s General Store in North Conway, we spent an evening perusing hundreds of New England-made goods on two jam-packed floors. Shotgun’s an animal lover, and found treats for her cats, dogs, and chickens, while I chuckled at the decorative plaques (Housework Won’t Kill You But Why Take the Chance). We both bought Zeb’s balsam pillows, plump with northwoods fragrance.

As in the old days, we avoided chain hotels and searched for a family-owned spot to spend the night. Our room at Junge’s Motel on Route 16 in North Conway had two turquoise sitting chairs where we watched Michael Phelps win another gold in Beijing.

After breakfasting on homemade blueberry muffins, we headed to Dover. We’d heard through the grapevine that Dover’s historic downtown had appealing antiques and collectibles shops, gift stores, and restaurants. During our visit, we found a shop displaying some of the very ’70s garb popular during our girlhoods. “We’re antiques,” I joked, examining a rack of purple silk shirts. “Mama Mia” was playing at the local theater. Armed with a bag of popcorn, we watched Meryl Streep at her most luminous and tapped our toes to Abba’s ’70s-era tunes.

After spending the night at the Day’s Inn in Dover (easy walk to shops and restaurants), we headed to Tuttle’s Red Barn. Established in 1632, it is America’s oldest family farm, and its history is chronicled in a colorful children’s book by Richard Michelson. Tuttle’s sells produce, gourmet candy, housewares, fresh-baked treats, and features a greenhouse.

In Barrington, we happened to arrive during the local farmer’s market and met two beautiful, brown-eyed calves. In Calef’s Country Store, we feasted on “snappy old cheese” (the store’s famed cheddar), perused racks of nostalgia candy, jams, and salsa, and posed for a photo on the porch.

Shotgun and Deb brake for roadside wonders.

Lastly, we made a pilgrimage to Antique Alley, a 20-mile stretch of Route 4 dotted with dozens of antiques and collectibles shops. In Ole Parsonage Antiques, packed with oldtime cookware, ephemera, and farm tools, we recalled some of the dishes our mothers served when we were kids. Shotgun remembered her mom’s specialty, fried bologna. Mrs. C would a heat bologna slice until the edges curled, creating a cup she filled with canned vegetables. I remembered a quivering tower called Under the Sea Salad, replete with pineapple chunks and Oz-like layers of emerald gelatin.

For Dorothy and Toto, there may be no place like home, but for me, there’s no place like the driver’s seat, with my good friend riding Shotgun.